


Poetry, Songs and other works conducive to my main writings

by MickletheKoala



Category: Original Work
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 15:23:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17706779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MickletheKoala/pseuds/MickletheKoala
Summary: You read it in the title





	Poetry, Songs and other works conducive to my main writings

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive Criticism will be appreciated, mindless hate will not be. More to come
> 
> This poem will be centered around Olliver, a character from my portfolio of doom.

Hurt  
The first word, memory and image when I think of  
Who?  
Of the black bird  
Was it him?  
Of a night rider, hair jet black, but not really  
Henna in his grey locks

Insecure  
Old  
Ancient, really  
Clinging to life  
To love  
To future  
Family

Attempts  
Attempts are failed successes  
Attempts to be a good husband  
An amazing father  
A loving lover  
A killer  
Heartless and blood soaked

Who's blood?  
Enemies, who hurt back  
Friends, eyes wide, but not defenseless  
Strangers, backs turned  
Family, eyes teary, truly defenseless  
Who dares raise a hand against thy brother?

It comes back

Hurt  
A bruised larynx, a wounded body  
My beaten body  
My worn down soul  
Family  
It does indeed come back

I can't see  
Screaming-  
Raw, it hurts the throat  
Tears and sobs echoing  
Echo

A gunshot  
Family  
GUNSHOT  
FAMILY  
Attempts  
Circles  
Circling back  
The snake eating its own tail  
Or rather lizard, for they grow again  
Grow back

Youth that you wished for  
You won't get it  
Youth that you stole  
Kin  
Dead  
Not like you  
Dead  
Synonymous with forever  
Eternal  
Gone  
Never to return 

YOU killed her!  
No excuses  
No attempts at excuses  
Failed success  
Bruises, bloodshed mayhem and an empty stomach  
Empty enough to kill

Ouroboros  
Lizards, lizards and anything frankenstein-ian  
Hurt  
A knife through the chest, blood pouring like rain from God's angry heavens  
Numb teeth  
More hurt

It's finished  
It's the end  
A line  
No circles

No more HURT


End file.
